


Professor Jack:  A Prelude in Five Parts

by WrathoftheStag



Series: Professor Jack [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Parenthood, Sort of? - Freeform, flashback to childhood, grad school, history!jack, imposter syndrome, jack becomes a professor, jewish!jack, life after the NHL, mentions of Jack's OD, omgcp artwork, post-grad, professor!Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrathoftheStag/pseuds/WrathoftheStag
Summary: Jack's road to professorship was a long one, sometimes filled with self-doubt, but always with love and support.  A sequel to "It Must Be Nice."
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight
Series: Professor Jack [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927786
Comments: 50
Kudos: 186





	Professor Jack:  A Prelude in Five Parts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RabbitRunnah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitRunnah/gifts).



> Written as part of the [Fandomcares BLM](https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/). No need to read the first part to understand what's going on, but it's nice to get the full story. For RabbitRunnah who wanted to hear more about Professor!Jack. <3

_**Prologue** _

Jack logged onto his Gmail and froze when he saw the message sitting there from Brown. _Admission Decision is Ready_.

“Bits,” Jack said softly. “Bitty? Can you wake up?”

Bitty turned to face Jack and slowly blinked his eyes open.

“Sweetpea, what’s wrong? Is Pearlie okay?”

“I… euh, I got an email from Brown.”

Bitty instantly sat up and looked at Jack with excitement. “And?”

“I didn’t open it yet.”

Bitty leaned over and pressed a kiss onto Jack’s cheek.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.

“But, we don’t know what they said yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Jack smiled at Bitty, then clicked on the link. He logged onto his application and took a deep breath.

“Dear Jack, on behalf of the Department of American Studies, we are pleased to inform you—”

Bitty screamed and jumped up onto his knees as Jack flung his laptop onto the bed.

“I’m in!” He yelled. “Crisse! I’m in!”

The two hugged one another, and Bitty cried out, “I knew it! I knew you could do it!”

Jack laughed as Bitty peppered his face with kisses.

**I.**

“How gee dee domestic is this?” Shitty asked as he flipped the burgers on the grill.

“You’re quite me grill master, man,” Jack said with a grin.

“Well, that’s what my apron says, brah,” Shitty said as he popped his chest proudly to show off the apron which read _GRILL MASTER_.

It had been a gift from Jack his last birthday after Shitty had said he was enrolling in a master grill class. Shitty attended one class, declared the entire workshop an exercise in self-indulgent male behavior, and then stopped going. The apron had been a joke gift between the two that Shitty absolutely adored.

“Shits, can you throw the corn on the grill, too?” Lardo called as she popped her head out the window.

“I’ll go get it,” Jack replied.

“Good, make yourself useful, man. Don't need to be standing around looking pretty. I already have an Adonis statue,” Shitty said as he pointed with his grill tongs to the miniature replica of David that stood tucked in the corner of his backyard.

Jack grinned. “You know that’s David, right? Not Adonis.”

“Keep bustin’ my pork chops, Zimmermann,” Shitty replied as he flipped another burger.

“You know those are burgers, right?”

Shitty faked a quick kick in Jack’s direction as Jack laughed and walked back toward the house.

“So y'all finally all settled in?” Bitty asked Lardo.

The two were inside working on desserts (well, more like Bitty was working while Lardo watched) and happily chatting when Jack walked in. 

They tried to get together as a foursome at least twice a month. Shitty and Lardo recently bought a cute little home in Jamaica Plain within walking distance from the Orange Line, which made commuting for Shitty rather easy. The new move, however, meant that get-togethers were off the table for a bit.

“Well, there are still about six or seven boxes out in the garage we haven’t opened yet, but we decided that in six months if we hadn’t opened them yet, we’d just donate them. Whatever's inside,” Lardo said. 

She snatched a slice of apple from Bitty’s bowl.

“God, just open them already,” Bitty said, alarmed. “Heck, I’ll open them.”

“Corn?” Jack asked.

Lardo pointed to a large red bowl on the counter.

“Thanks,” Jack said. 

“So, Jack, Bitty said you had some news to share?” Lardo asked, taking another apple slice. “You two having bebe number two?”

The three of them peeked outside the window and spotted Pearl. She was still playing on the grass, outside with Shitty, who was serenading her.

“Another baby? No, not that,” Bitty said.

“Bits, I thought we were going to wait until dinner?” Jack asked.

“I told her we had news, I just didn’t tell her what it was.”

Jack shook his head and grinned. “Big mouth.”

Bitty winked and continued mixing what was in his bowl. 

Jack thought about his years at Samwell and how it had managed to put such amazing people in his life. He thought about late-night jaunts to Superberry, long lazy holiday weekends at the Haus when no one would go home, intense study sessions with the gang. For Jack, those years certainly cemented his love of school. And now, Shitty and Lardo were family. And Bitty, well, he wouldn't even imagine a life without him.

“Anyway, like I was saying…” Bitty said as he smiled at Jack.

**+**

“Here’s to another successful meal by The Grill Master,” Shitty said as he raised his beer.

“And to your beautiful new home and future,” Bitty added. "Speaking of the future…"

“You two having another baby?” Shitty asked.

Jack grinned, and he watched Pearl eat her tiny hamburger patty. 

“No, actually, euh, remember I was talking about grad school?”

“Yep, a most capital idea, too, brah. Reading, writing, arithmetic--”

“And?” Lardo prompted

“And,” Jack said with a soft smile as he glanced at Bitty. “I got in. Into Brown.”

“Holy shit, Jack!" Lardo said as she jumped up to hug Jack. 

Shitty, meanwhile, was already wiping the tears from his face. 

“I knew you could do it, brah. My most beautiful, excellent brah.”

“Oh lord,” Bitty said as he went over to comfort Shitty. 

“I found out last week but wanted to tell you two in person,” Jack said as Lardo ruffled his hair. 

“Jack, that is so amazing. Congrats, dude,” she said.

“I knew he'd get it,” Bitty said. “I told him they'd be a fool not to take him.”

“You okay there, Shits?”

“I love this, so much.” he sniffled. 

“Now you're both Ivy League,” Bitty said.

“Ivy Schmivy!” Shitty yelled. “You know what this means? Another shot through the heart of stereotypical masculinity. _The_ Jack Laurent Knight Zimmermann, Stanley Cup super jock is showing everyone—yet again—that he's more than just a pretty face; that a man can be more! Brown, man. That's a big fucking deal.”

Jack felt his face flush as he began to take in Shitty’s words. 

He hadn't counted on the expectations from the public at large. And shit, Jack guessed there would be some but hadn't thought about it. Ultimately, the public could go to hell, but now he was aware of expectations. 

"Oh, it's not a big deal--" 

Shitty laughed.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Jack totally Good Will Hunted some douchebag our frog year?”

“No!” Bitty, Lardo, and Jack all yelled out simultaneously. Pearl smiled at them all while she quietly continued eating.

“Picture it, Sicily, 1912…” Shitty began as Jack covered his face. “We’re at a kegster our frog year, and Jack is talking to this girl--Samantha, right?”

Bitty’s eyebrow raised. “ _The_ Samantha?” he asked with a mischievous grin as Jack groaned.

“Shh!” Lardo interjected with glee as she motioned to Shitty to continue.

“So I’m across the room, watching as this one—who I’d been trying to crack like an egg for weeks—is finally showing signs of life whilst talking to good old Sammy.”

“Whilst?” Jack asked.

“Shh!” Bitty and Lardo said.

“And I start to get closer enjoying my cheap, but plentiful, alcohol so I can listen in, and maybe begin to contribute. Anything for senpai to fucking notice me—when all of a sudden some jackass moves in and start yammering about something or another about Heller and Vonnegut, sounding like a condescending, pedantic, mansplaining prick.”

Jack turned red and shrugged. “He was misquoting Vonnegut, man.”

“I love this guy!” Shitty howled as he pointed at Jack. “Then, _then_ , Jack drops the hammer. Bam! Classily tells that dillhole how wrong he is, and makes him regret getting out of bed that year.”

“Sweetpea! You put some guy in his place off the ice? That is so hot!” Bitty said.

“He implied the hockey team was stupid," Jack said with a shrug. "So, I had to set him straight."

“It was a thing of beauty,” Shitty said with a grin. “‘Hope that clears it up for you, bro.’ Fucking classic.” 

Shitty looked at Jack with a certain softness last seen when he proposed to Bitty at Faber.

“It’s gonna be great, brah,” he said. “ _You’re_ gonna be great.”

**II.**

Pearl had been fussy for the past two days.

“Definitely teething,” Bitty said as he looked over Jack’s shoulder while Jack rocked her in his arms. 

“Cream?” she asked with a whimper.

“I think it’s a bit too late for ice cream, _lapin_ ,” Jack said with a gentle smile.

“According to Doctor Sears,” Bitty continued, “the molars are coming in.”

Jack and Bitty watched as Pearl fussed in Jack’s embrace until she slowly began to stop and close her eyes, letting Señor Bun fall to the ground.

Bitty _shh’d_ quietly, and nodded at Jack, who, in turn, rose slowly and placed her in the crib once she was completely out.

“Thank goodness that Tylenol kicked in. Hopefully, she can get a good night’s sleep, poor little pumpkin,” Bitty replied in a whisper.

Jack had about 30 pages of reading to do and knew that if he got into bed, all he would want to do was snuggle with Bits and go to sleep.

“Why don’t I stay in her room, just in case she wakes up again?” Jack replied as he gently scooted Bitty out of Pearl’s room.

“But honey, you’ve got work to do,” Bitty began.

Jack led him to the hallway, “I can get some reading done, and there will be no danger of me dozing off if I’m in that wooden rocking chair, and you’ve been up with her the past two nights and must be exhausted. It’s okay, Bits. You rest up.”

“You’re not going to stay up all night reading, are you?”

Jack yawned, despite himself, “No, just an hour or two, I promise.”

Bitty looked at him, hands firmly on his hips, quirked eyebrow high.

“I promise,” Jack reiterated. He then scooped Bitty into his arms, “I mean, I could be persuaded to get into bed for _other_ reasons.”

Bitty laughed then gingerly slapped Jack’s shoulder. “Now, now, don’t let little ol’ me get in the way of your studies. There will be no romancing tonight.”

Jack wagged his eyebrows causing Bitty to snort and shake his head. 

“Get to work, mister.”

Jack grinned as he walked to their office to get his articles.

They had moved into their home, a rehabbed cottage in Providence, where he and Bitty shared office space. It was a modest house, considering the place they could have had. Both Jack and Bitty were adamant about not going overboard with their lives—they wanted Pearl to have a relatively normal upbringing without the Zimmermann extravagances Jack grew up with and had taken for granted.

“Want some tea?” Bitty asked as he yawned and cracked his neck.

“Oh, yeah, that sounds great, bud.”

“One cup of Moroccan mint, coming up.”

Jack pulled Bitty in for one more kiss. 

Jack settled into Pearl's room and turned the lamp on the nightstand a little brighter. Okay, that would be good. It would give him a moment to focus on his reading. He had been trying to get through a 35-page article called “Moral Philosophy and the Case Against Contemporary American Sports,” and for the life of him, he could not get past page seven. And it was during these times that the doubt would creep in...

“What am I doing?” he asked Pearlie, who dozed in her crib. “I’m taking one class a semester. At this rate, I’ll never finish. And if I finish, then what?”

Jack could feel his heart begin to race as he gripped his pen tighter, breathing faster. What exactly was he going to do with his degree? Was it just going to end up being a waste of his time and money? 

Jack briefly closed his eyes and was hit with the memory of being ten and sitting on his grandmother’s porch in Lanaudière. Before Bubbe Ellie passed away, Jack would spend a week with her every summer. She’d insist on Jack having some time away from hockey.

“Just let him be a boy, Robert,” she would say to Bob.

And so, for one week, every June, they would head up to her cabin in Lac Taureau. Just the two of them. They would hike, go fishing, play board games, look at the stars at night, and just be still. 

“What are you reading, Jacky?” she would always ask at the end of each day. 

She’d settle down next to him with a cup of tea and some cookies. The two would sit on the large front porch, which overlooked the lake. The books changed all the time, but inevitably, he was reading.

“The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,” he replied.

“That’s a good one,” she said. “I have a present for you.”

She pulled out a book from her sweater’s pocket. Jack put his book down and smiled as he took the new book from Bubbe’s hands. The cover was white, green, and blue.

“The Hobbit,” Jack said. “Neat!”

“I have to admit, I already read it,” Bubbe Ellie said, “but I think you’re going to love it.”

Jack eagerly turned to the first page.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort,” he read. 

He wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t want to live in a dirty wet hole either.”

His bubbe laughed. “Neither would I. This is such a good book, Jacky. It has a lot of adventure and action, but mainly it’s about being brave. We can read some more at bedtime. Sounds good?”

Jack nodded and helped himself to a cookie.

“Did I tell you about my new friends on the team?” he asked. “One of them, Davey, moved here from Vancouver.”

“Vancouver! That’s a long way, eh?”

"His parents moved here because of hockey."

"Well, that's quite a reason to move."

"He seems really nice. Soft hands."

"Oh, he uses lots of lotion, huh?"

"Bubbe!"

The two smiled, and Ellie handed Jack another cookie. 

Jack smiled; his face full of crumbs. 

“I can’t wait till I move up to peewee when I’m eleven,” Jack said in between bites of his cookie.

“And what, you’re a molecule now, right?” his bubbe chirped.

“Molecule?” Jack laughed.

“Galaxy?”

“No, I’m an atom!”

“Atom! That’s it! Well, all I know is that you’re my star—on or off the ice, got it?” she said.

Jack looked at her and nodded.

"On or off the ice," she repeated. 

The two sat quietly, watching the ducks lazily float by on the lake.

The summer when Jack was 19, he didn’t spend his week in Lac Taureau. Instead, he spent it in rehab. 

Jack had refused to take any of Bubbe’s calls and didn’t want to see anyone. He was ashamed and felt like a failure and couldn’t bear to see her of all people. That fall, however, she insisted he still spend his week with her. His parents agreed it would do him well.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Bubbe Ellie asked. “It’s not too cold.”

Jack sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to sit here together, huh? Move over. Scoot,” she said as he motioned for him to make room.

Jack moved over as she sat, then immediately curled up against her, a wilting parentheses. His head bent down to rest on her shoulder. Even at 6’ 1”, he felt small next to her tiny frame. 

“I ruined everything,” he whispered as she stroked his hand.

“No, you just took a detour.”

Jack exhaled; tears began to spike his lashes.

“Anything worth doing will be hard, my _bubala_ ,” she said softly. “But I know you can do it,” 

Jack nodded and didn’t say a word. The two remained like that for several minutes.

“Now read,” Bubbe Ellie finally said as she placed a book on Jack’s lap.

He looked down and smiled softly. He wiped his face with his hoodie’s sleeve, sniffed loudly, then cleared his throat and turned to the first page.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…” 

Jack turned toward Pearl's crib and watched as her eyes fluttered while she slept. He wondered what she would be dreaming of; Bitty’s pies, of her grandparents, the cat? In her, Jack saw a world of possibility and potential. His breathing began to slow.

She sighed once.

Then he realized if he could see that in her, why couldn’t he allow himself to, once again, see it in himself?

“Okay,” Jack said as he exhaled shakily and turned the night light brighter still, “let’s get going, Zimmermann.”

**+**

“Maybe you need to camp out in Pearlie’s room more often?” Bitty suggested as he handed Pearl her breakfast. 

She smiled and messily spooned some scrambled eggs into her mouth.

“Last night, I started to spiral. I asked myself what was I doing? They’re going to know I’m a hack, and I don’t belong there.”

“Oh, honey,” Bitty said as he and Pearl looked at Jack. “What happened?”

“I pulled myself out of it, but I almost went to wake you up.”

“You know you can, right? Anytime,” Bitty said.

“I know.” Jack reached for Bitty’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. He sighed. “Why did I think it was a good idea to take a philosophy class? Why?”

Bitty made a peek-a-boo face at Pearl, who laughed. He then looked at Jack over his shoulder.

“Because it was called ‘The Philosophy of Sport’ and you said, ‘That should be easy, Bits.’”

“Haha,” Jack said flatly. “I mean, it's fine. It's just not my cup of tea. At least I'm acing it, but ugh, at what cost?”

Bitty laughed. “Oh lord, this man. Guess we better call it quits then. Pearlie, go get the trusty blowtorch from the garage so we can melt papa’s computer.”

Jack rolled his eyes, and Bitty returned the roll. The two then grinned. 

“You and that memory.”

Bitty tsked. “Yeah, if my memory were all that, I’d be fluent in French by now. Isn’t that right, little miss? Also, hush mister. You know you belong there, you can do it. You can do anything."

Jack watched Pearl eat and laughed when she took a pineapple piece from her plate and gingerly plopped it into Bitty’s coffee mug.

“Pearl Eliana Bittle-Zimmermann! No, thank you, ma’am,” Bitty said slightly exasperated. He then turned to look at Jack. “Anything worth doing might be hard now and then. Real hard, but the rewards for those things are amazing, sweetpea.”

Jack smiled and quietly tucked into his eggs.

**III.**

Jack sat in his Gender and Media class, excited to be in an in-person class finally. He knew he should have been more disappointed that the Falconers were kicked out of Cup contention early in the season, but this meant he could finally go to class. While the online component was handy, he missed being in an actual room. 

It was his second week of class, and he found he was enjoying it. Shitty had encouraged him to the gender and media class, and it was refreshing taking something other than a history class.

While they did not have assigned seats, everyone pretty much sat in the same seats all the time. Jack had chosen a seat at the end of the third row. He figured it was still reasonably close to the front without being super obvious. On the first day of class, he hunkered down into his seat and was then relieved when most people completely ignored him as they made their way inside. 

He wore a white shirt, a pair of dark jeans, some white gym shoes, and his new reading glasses (which damn it, recently, he had started to need). He left his snapback at home; he did not want to look like some walking stereotype. Bitty said the outfit was fashionable without being too showy. Scholarly, even.

A few of the men did a double-take, and several women as well. (Although afterward, Bitty assured him that probably had _nothing_ to do with hockey. “Lord, honey, they have eyes!”) Jack was just happy being nothing more than a member of the cohort. In class, he could be Jack Zimmermann, graduate candidate. Nothing more, nothing less.

“So, what did everyone think about the article by Olabantu?” Dr. Perez asked. 

A woman in the front raised her hand. 

“It was eye-opening how little things have changed—particularly in Hollywood and sports culture. The sexism and racism are still there.”

“Anyone else agree?” Dr. Perez asked as she surveyed the room.

Suddenly, everyone in the class turned to look at Jack.

“Uh…” he said as he shrank into his seat and felt his shoulders rise. He wished he had a snapback to pull over his eyes.

Dr. Perez smiled. “Come on, everyone. That’s not nice.”

“No, that’s okay. About that…” Jack cleared his throat. 

He shot the professor a look, and she smiled kindly.

“I, um, think the simplest explanation as to why some of the logos continue to be used is because the majority of the owners of media, sports companies, and advertising agencies are white men. Why are women still sexualized in the media? Because of the patriarchy.” 

Jack glanced at the man sitting in front of him, who had turned entirely in her seat to get a better look at him.

Jack continued, “The patriarchy has nothing to lose by continuing to perpetuate racial and gender stereotypes, you know? There, euh, there are no offenses to be had, only revenue to be made… and it’s demonstrated by how long several of those sports logos and company mascots have remained in place.”

Jack could feel his ears burn as the class looked at him. One woman shrugged and nodded; then, everyone turned their attention back to the front of the lecture hall as the professor continued.

“Exactly,” the professor said, “that’s why it is always so important to remember who owns the media.”

Jack looked down at his notebook and grinned.

**IV.**

Jack watched the Lake Michigan waves as they came in and out the beach on the Chicago lakefront. The view from his hotel window calmed him and made him forget that in a few hours, he’d be presenting his paper to an entire room full of peers—yes, peers!

His paper, “War, Memory, and the American University from 1925-45,” had been accepted into the History and Modern Culture Association annual conference, and at 11:00 a.m. Jack was going to be presenting his paper. 

He looked at the clock on the nightstand. 7:15 a.m.

Jack knew the paper left and right, and could practically recite all 20 pages in his sleep, but discussing it in a room full of strangers? That was terrifying. He'd rather be in a face-off against his dad with one arm tied behind his back.

Oh god, what if someone asked him a question he didn't know the answer? Or even worse, what if no one came to his presentation? He knew logistically that was impossible. He was sharing his session with three other presenters, so they had to have people coming in to watch them.

Jack had 15 minutes to present his paper, and then 15 minutes were allotted for questions. He had struggled to consolidate 20 pages of paper into a 15-minute lecture, but he did it. Jack just had to focus on remembering to advance his slides, not say "euh" so much, and look at the audience. Come on! He'd done pressers for years, he could handle this. Right? 

He had gone to several presentations yesterday, impressed with the work’s caliber, still questioning why he was there. (“That fucking imposter syndrome will get you every time,” Shitty had warned.). Frankly, a big part of him just wanted to get it over with. It would be fine. It would be FINE.

He sat on his bed and called home.

“Morning, sweetpea,” Bitty said after picking up on the first ring. “How’s Chicago treating you?”

Jack instantly felt better, just listening to Bitty’s voice.

“Hey, bud.” 

“How are you doing?”

Jack chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. 

“Fine? I think. Just worried.”

“Totally understandable, but you got this. Just don’t forget to advance your slides while you're talking.”

Jack smiled. He had practiced his presentation on Bitty more than enough times he cared to admit. He had even presented it to Lardo and Shitty, who had held up scorecards when he was done.

“I’d say that’s a solid 8.5,” Lardo said.

“Damn, Lards,” Shitty said as he waved his number. “Not even a 9?” 

“A real friend is honest, no matter what,” she had replied and whacked Shitty over the head with her card.

“I timed it last night, in front of my room’s mirror, and it was exactly 14 minutes, 32 seconds,” Jack said to Bitty. 

He could hear Pearl singing in the background.

“Did you leave in that joke you weren’t sure about?”

Jack chuckled, “Yeah, I think it’ll help break the ice during the intro.”

“Leave it to you, Mr. Zimmermann, to find a way to include a dad joke in an academic presentation.”

“Right on.”

“Pearl says she loves you, and she knows you are going to nail it.”

“I wish you two would have come,” Jack said. He plopped himself back into the bed with a sigh.

“No, you wouldn’t have been able to concentrate. Pearl and I would have been too much of a distraction. It’s fine. You’re a big boy. It’s going to be great. I promise.”

“Miss you,” Jack said. 

“I miss you, too. Now go shower, have a delicious breakfast, and break a leg.”

“Thanks, Bits. I call you when I’m done.”

“Can’t wait!”

**+++**

Jack walked through the hotel’s convention center when his session was over, and he felt as though he was walking on air. 

He thought he would pass out for a moment there at the beginning, but when the moderator introduced Jack, and he stood up, everything just clicked into place.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our next presenter has a B.A. in history from Samwell University and is currently working on his master’s in American Studies from Brown. Please welcome, Jack Zimmermann, who will be discussing his paper, ‘War, Memory, and the American University from 1925-45.’”

He stood up and approached the podium. His slideshow was suddenly up on the screen, and he had the remote control in his hand. There was no turning back.

Jack cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming and thank you to the History and Modern Culture Association for hosting this event…”

He stayed on task, remembered to advance all of his slides, and once the lecture part was over, Jack felt as though a weight had been lifted from his chest. The next part was easy. People asked questions—relevant questions, and he knew exactly how to answer, what to say. 

Everyone was way more agreeable than the press, that was for damn sure. And while applause from a crowd was nothing new for Jack, this was. This felt a hell of a lot different. 

Jack was smiling so hard when he was done. He wished he could have gone on longer. He was still smiling when the next presenter was introduced.

Jack sat on a large ottoman in the lobby and pulled out his phone. His hands still shook from the adrenaline.

“Bits! It’s done!” he said joyfully.

**+**

“Hey, Jack, you made it,” Ricardo said as he approached the highboy with a woman. 

Jack stood at a highboy, eating his fifth tiny bagel dog and nursing a glass of wine. The crowd was growing at the evening’s reception, and even though Jack didn’t know anyone, he didn’t feel particularly awkward or out of place. He hadn’t planned on attending the reception, but one of his fellow presenters asked Jack if he was going, and he couldn’t think of a reason not to. 

“Hey, good to see you again.” Jack wiped his hands on a napkin and shook Ricardo’s.

“Jack, this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, Jack. Jack was in my session this morning, also presenting.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m so bummed I missed it! I was looking forward to Ricardo’s presentation for months, and then we both turned out to get scheduled at the same time.”

"Elizabeth," Ricardo said, "you two will have a lot to talk about. He goes to Brown."

“Oh? Did you just graduate?” she asked Jack.

"No, but I'm almost done. I have my current class left and then finishing my thesis."

"Congrats. What's your thesis about?" Elizabeth asked.

"Uh, it's an interdisciplinary analysis of the cultural underpinnings of U.S. foreign policy."

"Wow! What years?"

"1972 to the present," Jack said. 

Jack smiled as Ricardo and Elizabeth began to chat about previous conference experiences and grad school in general. It was odd to Jack how much at ease he felt. 

“Jermaine!” Ricardo shouted at a man in the crowd. “Get over here!”

Soon enough, there were six people at the tiny highboy, and the conversation never stopped. There were questions about history, about Samwell, about fellowships. And at that moment, he was Jack the academic, not Jack, the hockey robot. Not Jack, the Stanley Cup champion.

And Jack Laurent Zimmermann loved that.

**V.**

"Okay, you ready?” Jack said as he stood outside his office door. “It’s small, but I like the professor I share it with.”

“Honey, we know. Come on, let’s see,” Bitty said as Pearl pressed her face against the opaque glass.

“Let us in!” Pearl pleaded.

Jack unlocked the door of his office and held it open as he smiled brightly. 

"Welcome to my office!" 

Jack had recently been promoted and accepted a full-time position at Brown. He would be teaching three history classes this semester, and while the thought overwhelmed him at first, he found he absolutely loved teaching. 

The transition from Zimmboni to Doctor Zimmermann had been bittersweet for Jack, but when he officially retired everyone knew it was indeed time.

“Zimmboni, will you start wearing B’s bowties now?” Tater had asked at Jack’s retirement party.

“Haha, no. That’s a look only he can pull it off.”

Everyone had been at the party to wish him well, the Samwell gang, all of the Falconers team and management, NHL buddies. Retirement from the NHL at the age of 34 was respectable and well-deserved. Jack felt he had given the Falconers his truthful all. He wouldn’t have changed a minute of his time there. His cup days, the roadies, the kiss on the ice—he cherished every single thing and so, he was ready to move onto the next phase of his life. His Ph.D. And now, years later, he was in his office with his family.

“Papa, you have the drawing I made! In a frame! Sweet!” Pearl said as she pointed to Jack’s wall.

The drawing featured Jack in his regalia, and it hung next to his diplomas from Samwell and Brown.

Next to Pearl's drawing hung a copy of the photo of Jack, Bitty, and Shitty at Samwell from graduation. The bookcase on Jack's side of the office was filled with books and stacks of papers. A small French press and coffee service sat on one of the shelves. A framed photo of their wedding was next to it.

Bitty put the philodendron he was carrying on Jack's desk and took in the surroundings. 

"Sweetheart, it's great! Look at all this sunlight. I love it."

Jack smiled and gave Bitty a quick kiss. Pearl, meanwhile, jumped into Jack's chair and spun around.

"I'm Professor Zimmermann!" she called out as she plopped on a pair of reading glasses from the desk.

"That's _Doctor_ Zimmermann to you, missy," Bitty said with a wink.

It still startled Jack whenever he'd hear that. Even now, after all his hard work, it occasionally felt unreal. 

Years ago, Jack had often felt as if someone, somewhere, would realize a mistake had been made. They would say, "Actually, you know what? You _don’t_ belong here." It took a long time for Jack to stop thinking that way, to lock up his self-doubt. 

He looked around his office, at his family he adored—who adored him right back—and knew he belonged.

“Papa, your office is neat,” Pearl said as she spun around one more time. “It looks like a smarty pants person works here.”

“You know what, _lapin_?” Jack said as he booped her nose. “One does.”

_**Epilogue** _

**Author's Note:**

> So, like, Pearl was named after her two great-grandmothers. Just an FYI...
> 
> Come and say [hi on Tumblr](https://wrathofthestag.tumblr.com/post/629534885660491776/professor-jack-a-prelude-in-five-parts). 
> 
> All OMGCP characters belong to Ngozi Ukazu.


End file.
